Without meaning to sound like Swiss Toni, I've always found supporting a football club is very much like having your first bank account. You often go with the institution that your parents go with because you get gifts (football kits/porcelain pigs), stick with them through boom and bust, before eventually you die and they still have an influence on your funeral, whether it's a gawdy club coloured coffin or the fact that you'll end up in an unnamed grave because you got PPI on a loan.
That was always very much the case with me, for a bank anyway. I was suckered in by Natwest's porcine money banks, the family of five which were dished out every time you reached a savings landmark, up to £100. I never did get the biggest pig, although my school headteacher did which looking back is rather dark indeed.
Fuckpigs
In my experience with football teams, it was quite different but with a similar end result. I grew up in North London to parents from elsewhere, my Dad nominally liking football having played occasionally for Scottish club Stranraer before coming to England. Liverpool were the dominant English club at the time, my closest cousin supported them and my younger brother and I were bought various items of merchandise as presents/bribes. One of the first football matches I remember watching on telly was the 1986 FA Cup final, complete with footage of Scousers scaling the outer walls of Wembley to gain ticketless entry - a process which continues to this day when Liverpool play in less developed lands, including the 2005 Champions League final.
Several scallies scaling
Maybe their lack of respect for the law rang alarm bells in my young mind, so Emperor Dalglish and his rogues never quite swayed me to their Dark Side. With so little football on TV in the 1980s, the next big club match was the 1987 Littlewoods Cup Final between Liverpool and Arsenal, a sunny afternoon again at Wembley. Ian Rush scored first, which in those days meant a banker win. Maybe it was the spirit of supporting the underdog, the pasty legs of Perry Groves powering into the box assisting Charlie Nicholas' winner for Arsenal, or something as innocuous as our regular babysitter (I was seven) buying me a silk Arsenal flat cap before the game, which adorned the heads of the victors.
Wine-downer Sansom in my hat
So I was hooked. A number of random incidents combining which led to a love affair lasting over a quarter of a century. Countless thousands of pounds spent, air miles accrued, friendships forged and spurned. But in 2015, the landscape is hugely different, where perhaps these so-called "meet-cutes" are no longer so random. My niece was registered as a Junior Gunner as soon as her name was confirmed; my youngest brother received an Arsenal shirt with Bergkamp on the back and taken to a home match against Coventry in order to secure his fandom.
How would an adult with enough cynicism resist such urges to support a new club? I'll admit that it's quite spoilt to suggest I've fallen out of love with Arsenal, but several circumstances mean I very much don't enjoy going to the games any more. In the last year I've become a board member at a non-league football club (essentially my work side), become more involved in football in Finland at various levels, plus a promotion at work has led to reduced free weekend time and more demand from the wife.
It's dangerous to suggest I'd support a new club. Definitely not one in England, that'd be too weird. But I think it would be nice to perhaps explore a new league, not as a blogger or hipster, but just to open up the idea of travelling to see the side and take in a different football culture. But possibly without the drinking, without which is possibly another reason I've not enjoyed going to Arsenal... Maybe you need to be pissed to enjoy it.
So, the new team bit.
So, the new team bit.
A recent BBC article explores how and why one thousand English fans travel to Dortmund for home matches, having been to the Westfalonstadion in 2011 for a Champions League match I can see why (even with a reduced capacity and UEFA's alcohol ban). Other non-football German trips to Munich and Berlin have also been great fun, Rich-friendly in both cuisine and language (schnell). I am obviously far too late to join the Dortmund party, while the idea of liking Bayern Munich makes my toes curl. I'm going to plump for Greuther Fürth of the 2.Bundesliga on this one. I kept an eye on their fortunes for a year while my acquaintance Tim Sparv played for them (2013/14), while I was very curious about their Hummel kits and their shamrock crest, albeit with no known Celtic connections. The Bavaria home also sits well with the notion of beer halls and food to which I've become partial in recent years.
Tea-potting in Deutschland (photo via Ant)
Not having BT Sport limits live access to the Bundesliga, but then again I have Sky with unfettered access to the Spanish league. I have little to no interest in Spanish football though, having been to both Real Madrid and Barcelona with Arsenal, I find those clubs detestable and pious. The trip to Villarreal was more fun, mainly because I got to watch Jens Lehmann save a penalty whilst sat in a corridor outside the VIP toilets. This had nothing to do with meeting Theo Walcott outside those bogs. I did just buy a reduced Villarreal jersey from CFS, plus they did of course provide a home for Robert Pires. Reason enough to declare them 'my Spanish team', I think.
I've been to Italy twice to see Arsenal, against Sampdoria in 1995 and Juventus in 2006. My experiences are limited; on both trips there was very little experience of the places themselves as there wasn't much time to do anything other than grab a couple of pints. Genoa appeared the nicer, Turin reminded me of Preston. The stories, passion and the stellar names of the 1990s have at least kept me on a loose follow of the fortunes of the league. While they have some of the outstanding players in Pogba, Vidal, Pirlo and Buffon, supporting Juventus would be uncomfortable after Calciopoli and their lack of remorse, the allegations of doping and being owned by Fiat (Fix It Again Tony). Sampdoria are more appealing with their magnificent kits, Gianluci Vialli in his pomp and the memory of 1995. If I'm looking at an Italian team, it'd be Samp, although if I do ever go to Italy again, I'd love to go to Florence...
David Seaman saving a penalty in Genoa
So I guess that's it. Arsenal will always be my number one team, even if I rarely go to games again. In the two months since my last match (the aberration that was Anderlecht 3-3) I've not missed it one bit, other than seeing my mates. My recent babysteps return to boozing could help I suppose. I have yet to book any flights to follow my new teams, but certainly won't be shy in checking their results, perhaps a sly look at reduced replica tops for my (hopefully) imminent return to 5-a-side footy.
The pain of a thousand different knives has damaged the Arsenal vein to my heart, along with causing many other injuries. It's not irreparable, but I need rest and recuperation. I can't revisit these roots, the Clock End is gone, getting an autograph on my arm from the scorer of the title-clinching midfielder in the Islington Woolworths cannot happen again, the bubble is too thick. There's no prospect of visiting Paul Merson's sport shop in Chapel Market or seeing one of the centre-halves falling out of a pub on Blackstock Road. I can bear not knowing the score, or even the league position. I'll be at Imber Court, at work, or being dragged around Homebase looking for an accessory for my new pressure washer.
You'll always be my Arsenal. But I don't think you're my home anymore.
